


Love That for Us

by yrfrndfrnkly



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: F/F, Getting Together, Hair Braiding, Katz's, New York, Twyla comes to visit, accidental dates, because they're scary and for no other reasons!, bed sharing, chest feelings, holding hands at a scary movie, mocking hipsters, or are they?, sapphic Halloween costumes, someone pees in a sink (not Twyla or Alexis), texts with David and Patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27407590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yrfrndfrnkly/pseuds/yrfrndfrnkly
Summary: Alexis moved to New York to fly solo as a badass girl boss. Accidentally going on many dates with Twyla was not a part of the plan.
Relationships: Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands
Comments: 20
Kudos: 56
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	Love That for Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nowrunalong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/gifts).



> Dear nowrunalong,
> 
> I was so excited to get this assignment when I saw your notes and likes about Schitt's Creek. Much like you, the possibility of Twyla visiting Alexis in New York intrigued me and it was very fun for me to right this and explore a light, silly, fluffly take on that. I super hope you like it, and that you enjoyed crafting your own creation for the fest!
> 
> <3 
> 
> To my beta: You know who you are and you know you're the best

October 2020

"OH MY GOD EW!!! STOP! STOP!"

The man in Alexis's apartment—Chadwell? Christophe? Something with a 'C'—turns his head to look at her over his shoulder. "Hey babe." He shrugs and nods casually toward the peen in his hands. The peen splashing urine into her _kitchen sink_. "Had to go. Bathroom was locked."

"You're not stopping!" Alexis squawks. She reflexively swats in Cooper(?)'s general direction while also recoiling from the horror show unfolding in her kitchenette, and almost falls over.

As Alexis recovers her balance, Chev (maybe?) shakes his wang into her sink, which she will now have to tear out, and turns toward her. "Stopped now." He smirks cheekily. "Really had to go. It was the sink or the window."

"Oh well phew!" Alexis blurts out, laying on the sarcasm. "I'm just like, so glad my kitchen sink was there for you!" 

She's not sure what to do. Her instinct is to shove his weiner back into his pants, but he's naked. Also, she really, really doesn't want to touch him. She can't believe she slept with a sink pee-er! This, she thinks grimly, is what comes of letting a rando into her apartment. And, fuck, what else has the sink pee-er touched?! Definitely the bed. And the table… She's going to have to move.

"Ummm. So—" Alexis flaps her arms up and down, bouncing up and down from the knees in tandem as she does, as though by shaking herself she can yeet the very knowledge of such supreme uncleanness out of her brain. "So that," she looks away from the scene of the crime, "is not cute for my sink."

"It's fine," he assures her, and turns back towards the sink, reaching for the tap. "Here, I'll rinse it out."

"NO!" Alexis commands, which, mercifully, has the effect of stopping his sink-peeing hand before it can touch anything else in her home. "No, no." She purses her lips, closes her eyes, and shakes her head. "No. Yeah, no, there's no need." 

Alexis whirls to face the bed pushed against the adjacent wall of her bachelor apartment. She casts her bulging eyes around the bed and floor and starts scurrying around, picking up each of his garments gingerly between the smallest possible amount of her index and thumb nails. 

"Hey, calm down. It's just pee."

"In my sink!! It's your pee in my sink!" Once Alexis has underwear, pants, and a shirt in hand, she thrusts them at Cory—no, that's definitely not right—and points toward her door.

Holding his stuff to his bare chest, he has a put-out expression on his face, as though he's the one who will have to spend tomorrow scouring the rental listings for another nearly affordable place to live in New York because his apartment has been irrevocably tainted.

Alexis keeps her finger pointed toward her door, huffing and ew-ing under her breath as Carlisle quickly gets dressed. As he makes his exit, Alexis moves to close the door behind him, careful to use her left hand, which she kept well clear of the sink pee-ers clothes so that she doesn't have to replace the door as well. On his way out, he stops in the hallway and casts her what she assumes he thinks is a winning, roguish smile. "Do this again sometime?"

"Urrrgh!" Alexis slams the door in his face and locks the deadbolt, the chain, and the knob, just in case.

She looks around her, at her once… well, not beautiful, but very nearly livable apartment, and pulls her face into an Olympic level pout as she takes the two steps from the door to her tiny, one-chair table to grab her phone. "Ew."

She needs moral support right now, but her parents are unlikely to answer at this hour, and if David finds out she'll never hear the end of it. Right now what she needs is someone gentle and actually, like, nice.

Me: _Ew Twyla are you up!??!?!_

As she sends the text, Alexis has a sudden realization and gasps, drops her phone back on the table, and raises her right hand in front of her face. She held a sink pee-ers clothes in that hand!

She trots to the bathroom and washes her hands repeatedly, until they are red and feel like they have never known moisture, then drenches some toilet paper with the rubbing alcohol in her medicine cabinet and wipes down her phone and the table for good measure. 

As she does, she sees a notification from Twy appear on her screen. She snatches the phone back up.

Maybe the best person I know: _Hey! Everything okay???_

Me: _Ummmmmmm that would be a no_

Me: _I just brought a guy home from a club and when we finished and I went to the bathroom I came out and he was PEEING IN MY SINK!!!!_

Maybe the best person I know: _You're kidding_ 😱

Me: _I'm not_ 😭😭😭 

Maybe the best person I know: _Is he still there?_

Me: _Ew, no! I threw him out! But what am I going to do??? I can never use my sink again. And I feel like my whole apartment has been, like, tainted, or something. I slept with a sink pee-er, Twy!!_

Maybe the best person I know: _Okay, well this is definitely gross. But I think you and the sink will survive… Was there anything… in it?_ 😬

Me: _Oh my god ew!!! I haven't even checked._

Maybe the best person I know: _Maybe start there. Then you can figure out what needs to be cleaned_

Me: _Oh, Twy, like there is any way my sink will ever be clean again_

Despite feeling that the sink is a write off, and not the cushy tax kind, either, Alexis approaches it hesitantly, trying to maintain as much distance as she can while still getting close enough to see if—God forbid—there's anything inside. Maybe she should put on an apron over her jim jams? And why (why?!) doesn't she own disposable gloves? Or one of those, like, face shields to protect welders?

Alexis finds that taking no steps closer to the sink is not really getting her anywhere, so she lets out a full-body huff and approaches, looking up at the ceiling to postpone what she can just sense will be a horrific reveal.

She takes a deep breath in, holds it, and bravely looks into the pissy depths of the tiny kitchenette sink.

Within which lies… a spoon!

Alexis recoils back toward the table, grabs her phone, and responds to Twy.

Me: _Twy there's a spoon in there!!! Who pees ON A SPOON???!?!?_

Maybe the best person I know: _I don't suppose it's a disposable plastic one?_ 🤞

Me: _No! And neither is the fucking sink!! This is effed_

Me: _Twy you know about food stuff and like, sanitation or whatever. What do I do??? I don't think I can pull the sink out myself_

Alexis tucks her phone into one of her sheepskin slippers and tries to get her nails under the edges of the sink on the countertop to haul it up and out.

Me: _It's really stuck on there_

Maybe the best person I know: _I know it's gross, Alexis, but the good news is this is cleanable. The sink is probably stainless steel, right? And that can be sanitised. Do you have any bleach?_

Alexis spares a thought for her hair. 

Me: _Yeah, I was going to give myself a few highlights this weekend_

Maybe the best person I know: _Sounds cute! But I meant bleach for cleaning or laundry, like Clorox or something_

Alexis checks the cupboard under her hazmat sink to see what she's got under there. It's mostly lavender scented home products that David and Patrick sent her as a housewarming gift (accompanied by a few choice remarks from David about whether or not she's ever cleaned a toilet or unclogged a drain and earnest encouragement from Patrick that she would be fine and the products will make everything smell great).

Right now, squatting in front of her kitchen cupboard, all Alexis can smell is piss.

Me: _No bleach_

Maybe the best person I know: _Okay, no worries. I think you should rinse the sink out for now so that the sink doesn't start to, you know, smell…_

Me: _Bit late for that!_

Maybe the best person I know: _Do you have any vinegar? You could wipe the sink down with that for now, and then pick up some bleach tomorrow_

Alexis shoots up from her squat and begins opening cupboard doors. She thinks she might have seen some vinegar when she moved in, a legacy of a prior tennant.

Me: _Found some!_

Maybe the best person I know: _Great! Rinse the sink, then soak a rag with the vinegar and wipe down the sink and the spoon. You should probably throw it out after_

Me: _You think!??? The spoon is going too_

Alexis taps her screen a couple of times, ringing Twyla on FaceTime since her hands will soon be both occupied and germy.

Twyla answers after a couple of rings, sitting up in her bed. She looks adorably cosy and Alexis would give anything to actually have her here, or to be there, whatever, in a timeline where she spent the night with Twy and her sink never got peed in.

"Oh my gosh, Twy, look at you all snug as a bug in a rug! Did I wake you up when I texted?"

"No, I was reading." Twyla nods to her side, where Alexis can see the battered corner of a paperback.

"I know that video calls are so over, but I could really use some moral support. Thanks for the hot vinegar tip."

"Anytime." On her phone screen, Twyla smiles. "Did you at least have a good time before the sink fiasco?"

"Urrgh, hardly," Alexis complains, prodding the tap on to start rinsing out the sink basin. It's a pretty old school set up, so she can't get at the sides with the faucet itself. "I mean, fine, but like, nothing special. And now we know why."

"They can't all be winners, I guess," Twyla commiserates. 

"Why can't I meet one person in this city who isn't trying to like, convert me or pee in my sink?"

"You must have friends who still live in New York?" Twyla prods.

"Totally." Alexis grabs a rag from one of her kitchenette drawers and douses it in vinegar. She thinks about her old friends and all of their shenanigans and how much fun they had. But she also remembers Klair burning through Schitt's Creek and how icky Alexis felt when her new life faced down her old one. She scrunches up her nose and courageously applies the rag to the sink. "But I just think that, like, maybe we've outgrown each other now, or something? And now that I'm, like, a badass girl boss, I have to focus on work, y'know?"

"I get that," Twyly says empathetically, and Alexis knows she does, because Twyla's a go-getting girl boss too.

"I mean, I've only hooked up with like, a dozen people since I got here."

Twyla smirks and nods approvingly. "Well that doesn't sound like you're doing too badly."

"Sink pee-ers aside, yeah, I've been on my game. But like, there's no one to actually hang out with." There is absolutely no way Alexis is getting in touch with any of her old, fake New York crowd. She'd infinitely rather chat with Twyla through a screen. She actually likes Twyla; she and her old friends just kind of liked themselves in each other's company.

"Alexis, you're probably the most sociable person I know. I'm sure you could make some new friends."

"Ugh, Twy, don't make me. I wish I could just like, slide into the café and hang with you instead." 

"Well…" Twyla's face lights up in a smile that contrasts badly with the grimace on Alexis's face as she uses the vinegar-soaked rag to remove the ruined spoon from her sink and throw it directly in the trash.

"Wellll?" Alexis shimmies her shoulders encouragingly as she pumps some soap into her hands using her elbow. She's going to wash her hands forever.

"Well," Twyla repeats, excitement in her voice, "maybe one of your friends could come to you instead?"

"Twy!!!" Alexis shrieks, flicking water off her hands in a frenzy. She grabs her phone from where it's propped against a wall on the countertop. "You better be serious!"

"Piss crises aside, I've been thinking about when you suggested I come visit you..." She trails off for a beat. "Anyway, if the offer still stands—"

"It stands!" Alexis assures her. "When are you coming??"

*

At Newark Airport, Alexis goes back and forth between tapping the toe of her chunky heels on the ground and ritualistically checking the time on her phone. Twyla's flight landed on time, like fifteen minutes ago. How long does it take to unload a flight? she wonders impatiently. Alexis blows some air out of her mouth in a kind of half-raspberry that makes the hairs that have fallen from her artfully messy top knot flutter around her forehead.

She should chill. It's not like she's been thinking solely about how much she misses Twy and all the fun they'll have together since Twyla told Alexis she was coming. And, actually, Alexis thinks, that's true: she's also been thinking a lot about work. She's been working to build her client base in New York since before she left Schitt's Creek, and she actually has three jobs that are kind of big whups on the calendar to juggle with Twy's visit—a "resto-cart" launch for an independently wealthy hipster, an InterFlix premier that will be entirely free of crow attacks, and an heiress's Halloween party that she's genuinely excited about. It's totally the kind of client and gig Alexis envisioned when she was doing business assignments for her college courses. Of course, the heiress is of the Klair variety (aka the past Alexis variety)… But still, Alexis can't remember the last time she dressed up in a costume, and, frankly, she's _good_ at this stuff. She might not be an heiress or a party girl anymore, but there aren't that many kinds of work that actually allow her pre-and-post Schitt's Creek skill sets to converge. It's nice to be good at something aside from conducting daring escapes on speed boats. 

After ten or fifteen minutes of increasingly frenzied time-checking, foot tapping, and silent reminders to herself to chill the fuck out, during which the other people waiting to greet passengers in the International Arrivals area slowly but surely inch away from her, the doors at the end of the hall open and people begin to trickle out. 

"Twy!!!!!" Alexis frolicks toward a powerful, paisley peasant blouse, arms thrown open, and embraces Twyla the moment she's in reach. "You're finally here!!!" Alexis moves to plant a glossy pink kiss on Twy's cheek, but Twyla moves slightly as she does and Alexis ends up awkwardly kissing her on the mouth. 

Alexis is about to begin apologizing profusely for greeting Twyla with an accidentally-non-consensual kiss, but Twyla, looking a little pink around the ears, gives a light laugh and jokes it off. "You must be really happy to see me!" 

Twyla's smile is wide and her eyes are as bright as Alexis's heart feels at seeing her for the first time in almost two months, which is how anyone would feel, she reasons, about a friend they got used to seeing everyday for five years. 

She realizes that she's still got Twyla's waist in her grip, and gives her an extra little squeeze before releasing her. As she's straightening up, a minor 'whump' noise causes Alexis to jump back. It turns out to be Twyla's wheely case, apparently jettisoned out of her grip by the force of Alexis's strictly amicable embrace.

Alexis and Twyla dive for it at the same time to prevent a tripping hazard, knocking shoulders, fumbling the bag, and giggling until it's once again upright. 

"I'll grab that." Alexis reaches for the bag in an overture of helpfulness, before Twyla assures her she can manage and grabs the pulley-handle-thingo.

"Okay, well when you've got your checked bags I can totally take this one," Alexis says graciously.

"Oh, actually—" Twyla reaches for her forehead and pushes a few hairs that have escaped her half braid crown. Alexis has _missed_ that half-braid-crown. "I didn't check any luggage. This is it." Twyla tugs at the straps of her backpack, making it give a little jump, then nods toward the small carry-on bag she's dragging behind her.

"Oooh, Twy!" Alexis shimmies her shoulders. "Going cottage core—love that for you, girl."

They continue onward to the exit, Alexis determined to keep things super casual, asking Twyla how she managed to fit a blow dryer, flat iron, and all her ensembles, plus all the shoes and skin care she'll need for her stay into two small bags. When Twy responds that she just packed clothes, toiletries, and two pairs of shoes—one casual, one dressy—Alexis hastens to tell Twy she's welcome to any and all hair care appliances while she's staying with Alexis.

"Be forewarned though, Twy, my apartment's about the size of a dime bag."

"Don't worry about that, Alexis. My mom and I lived in a yurt for like a year when she was dating that macrobiotic guy. And I'm so excited to stay with you."

"Yum." Alexis grimaces as she slides up to a free NJ Transit machine and buys two tickets to New York Penn Station. 

"Oh, I can get that." Twyla reaches into her jeans pocket.

"Don't be silly, Twy! You're like, my guest!" 

"But you came all this way to get me into the city without getting lost, and you're already letting me stay with you. It's the least—"

Alexis wiggles her head dismissively. "Twist my rubber arm then. You have US cash?" She gestures to the slot for bills.

Twyla inserts some bills, and after she grabs their tickets from the machine Alexis whisks them into the city.

*

"Hungry?" Alexis asks as they emerge onto the street outside Penn Station.

"Ravenous actually. Did you know passengers are actually banned from eating on Larry Air?"

Alexis's mind suddenly starts running overtime trying to think of things she's seen Twyla eat, and she realises that she doesn't even know what kind of nibbles Twy likes. What kind of deadbeat friend is she, anyway? If Alexis knew her faves, she could suggest a place or two and then squire Twyla to a cosy spot in a manner that is categorically not chivalrous or doting. 

But if Alexis has one skill, it's thinking on her feet. "Did you go to Katz's last time you were here? Come on, let's get a train." She takes Twy's hand and pulls her toward a train.

*

In a booth at Katz's, Alexis watches as the performative crankiness of the server withers in the face of Twyla's earnest good vibes. He takes Twy's no-nonsense order and brings Alexis a coffee with minimal grumbling, then leaves the two of them alone as he heads to another table.

"I hope you're not missing any work to pick me up from the station."

"Kept the day all clear, but I've been working on the branding for this hipster 'resto-cart-eatery'." Alexis flashes air quotes. "The soft launch is tomorrow night." She raises her eyebrows importantly.

"That sounds like fun!"

"Mmmm, love that enthusiasm. But it'll be a bunch of guys with waxed moustaches in suspenders serving quasi-food out of a truck. Meanwhile, the Carabinieri tried to arrest me in Ferrara for selling a bunch of scallops I found out of a hatchback—can you believe that?"

"I can," Twyla nods sagely. "And I'm sure you'll do a great job with the eatery."

Alexis rolls her eyes and touches her chest before patting Twyla's arm where it rests on the table top. "Aww, thanks Twy. You'll find out tomorrow."

"Oh, you mean I get to come?"

"Oh my gosh, aren't you just the silliest goose! Of course you're coming! I have a few events while you're in town, and you're coming to all of them." Alexis means to go on, giving Twyla the details of the social calendar she's managed to put together after a couple months of client meetings and smaller, ability-proving event planning. So many fiftieth wedding anniversary parties and Bat Mitzvahs… But she falters as a supremely unpleasant thought occurs. Maybe Twy will want to like, just do her own thing while she's here. Maybe she'll just be crashing at Alexis's? 

She pitches her voice lower, aiming for chill and starts tugging at the flyaway hairs at the back of her neck. "You know, if you want to. Obviously." 

"Of course! This is so exciting! I can't wait to see what you've been planning."

When Twyla's fed she leaves some cash on the table—the massive tip signalling her own vocation as a restaurant worker (and her forty-six-million-dollar lottery win, probably)—and they head to Alexis's to drop Twyla’s bags and regroup.

"We can chill for a bit, and there are some emails and texts I should answer before we figure out what we want to do tonight." Alexis smiles and fishes around in her bag for her keys so that she can let them in. Trotting up the stairs, Twyla dismisses Alexis's cursory offer to carry her wheely case up to her apartment.

When Alexis has let them into her apartment and she's kicking off her heels, Twyla asks, "Will I be in your way? I could just drop my bags and do some sight seeing."

"Twy!" Alexis slaps her lightly on the arm. "You could never be in the way." 

"As long as you're sure. Is there a spot I can roll out my sleeping bag? It's a really good one. My mom's boyfriend bought it back from a police auction after they seized it as evidence."

Alexis drops into her only chair and pulls the laptop on her table toward her. Over the top of the screen, she adds, "Oh my gosh, Twy, stop. I know I don't have lots of like, space, or furniture, or whatever, but we can share my bed." Alexis points to the object in question, mere feet away from, well, everything in the apartment. "You okay to hang there while I work for a bit?" 

Twyla takes off her shoes before heading over to sit on the bed, leaning against the wall it's pressed against and pulling out her own laptop and earbuds. "You bet."

*

After a couple of hours, Alexis has caught up on work stuff. She's been trying to type quietly, without making too much noise so as not to wake Twyla, who fell asleep in Alexis's bed not long after Alexis got to work. She's still dressed in her paisley blouse and jeans, laying on top of the duvet that Alexis definitely didn't steal from the Rosebud Motel because: 1) no one would steal anything so dated and 2) if they did that would be, like, really sad. Almost as sad as having warm chest sensations at the sight of a friend drooling on top of it.

Perhaps the abrupt end to Alexis's feverish typing wakes Twy. 

"I can't believe I fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon." Twyla covers her mouth with the back of one hand as she yawns, then gropes around next to her, clearly looking for her phone. Alexis points to Twyla's chest, where it fell when she nodded off. Twyla laughs and grabs it, apparently to check for the time, or for notifications, or both. 

"Flying Larry Air really takes it out of you," Alexis commiserates. "But you're all, like, bright eyed and bushy tailed now, though. So we can figure out what we want to do tonight."

Twyla's eyes look like she's had a caffeine injection at this pronouncement, and she moves up into a sitting position in Alexis's bed. "What did you have in mind?"

"It's about six hours too early for dinner—" Twyla looks alarmed and grabs her phone again, apparently double checking the time. "So tell me…" Alexis pauses for dramatic effect and scampers over to sit demurely on the very edge of the foot of her bed. To give Twyla space, like a good host. "What would you think of dinner and a show?" Alexis winks excitedly, first with one eye, then the other.

"A Broadway show!" Twyla squeals, hands literally clenching into joyous fists in anticipation.

Alexis chokes on her own spit, thinking of the cost of Broadway seats for anything worth seeing. "Mmmmm." She nods philosophically, keen not to put a damper on Twyla's excitement. "That could be cute, or, like, maybe we could do something super authentic like, off-Broadway. Or off-off-Broadway."

"Let's see what's playing." Twyla unlocks her screen, opens her browser, and quickly finds a site listing all the shows playing _on_ Broadway. "Have you seen any of these? I don't want to make you see the same thing twice."

"Yeah, no… I mean, yeah. No," Alexis says, pulling her mouth into a series of expressive poses. "I'm kinda, you know… like, too broke." 

"The cost of living here must be so high," Twyla observes, empathetically. "But—" She leans forward off of the wall where the head of Alexis's bed is resting, and pats Alexis's thigh—the one that's closest to her—the other is practically off the bed thanks to Alexis's precarious, hostly, perch. "This will be my treat. For having me come to visit." She looks Alexis in the eyes, and her look holds no hint of pity or any misplaced sense of philanthropy.

Alexis looks right back at her, and returns her smile, weakly at first, but it grows as she lets the feeling of having her friend here now wash over her. "Twy," she begins. "You know you're like, the bomb dot com, right?"

Twyla scrunches up her nose in some silent, WASPy combination maneuver that seems simultaneously to accept and decline the compliment before taking her hand back from Alexis's thigh and scrolling on her phone with renewed energy.

"I've heard _Moulin Rouge!_ is the best bad musical ever. I love Danny Burstein," Twyla informs Alexis as she scrolls. "Or maybe something more classic? There's always _Phantom_?" Twyla says hesitantly. 

"I don't think that's right for us." 

"Oh this looks cool—have you heard of _Six_? Apparently it's about Henry VIII's wives."

Alexis would _love_ to see that show, but she knows for a fact it's one of the hottest tickets in town. There's no way there'll be any tickets available for tonight. Probably not for Twyla's whole visit. She deflects. "Ew, Twy! Didn't he have fifteen wives and behead them all or something?"

"Not quite that many, but I think this musical is from the perspective of the wives."

"Oh yeah. I mean, I think I've seen one of the videos on YouTube or something…"

Lickety split, Twyla whips out her phone and finds a performance from the Olivier Awards. She points to her screen and Alexis cautiously leans towards her, the better to see with. She definitely doesn't note that Twy's hair smells like the proprietary blend products from Rose Apothecary, or that it's the same stuff Alexis uses, so Twyla literally smells like her home.

Alexis has seen the performance before, and it's good as hell. By the end Twyla is nodding along enthusiastically.

"We've got to see this!" 

"I'm loving your energy, Twy, but it's a new show so it'll probably be sold out, y'know?"

In a heartbeat, Twyla's on Stubhub. "Found some!" She smiles at Alexis. "Should I order?"

"Twy, last minute seats are always super expensive, and this is a hit, so…" She trails off.

"Alexis, before you left, you told me I should spend a bit of money sometimes on things that make me smile."

Alexis purses her lips and pulls a smug face at being quoteworthy. "And I stand by that. If _Six_ would make you smile, definitely go and I'll meet you after for a bite—"

"I meant _you_ , you goof." Twyla rolls her eyes. "Going to a fun show with _you_ would make me smile." Alexis briefly dies. "As long as you want to go."

Alexis uses all her posthumous will to revive herself so that she can totally nonchalantly answer, "In that case, let's do it." She's about to change the subject to a dinner spot, and insist upon paying, before she thinks that, really, "let's do it" isn't really a proportional answer to the gift Twyla is offering or to her words about Alexis and smiles. She thinks about how the Alexis of five years ago wouldn't bat an eye at being taken to a night on the town in NYC; it was second nature to her to get everything she wanted. That's not the case now; she doesn't take this for granted. "Twy." Twyla looks up at her, waiting to hear whatever she has to say. "That is super sweet. Thank you. For real." 

"You're welcome, Alexis." The pink colour from the airport returns to Twyla's ears. 

Alexis leans in to tap Twy's nose companionably. "Boop."

*

Alexis's alarm goes off at nine am the next day. They got back late from dinner after _Six_ (incredible), but she still darts her hand out to turn the alarm off before it can twinkle a second time and wake Twyla, who is on vacation, thank you very much. She shouldn't have to get up practically at dawn just because Alexis has a huge, potentially career bolstering job to get perfect today.

Alexis breathes through the anxiety for a couple of minutes, then pushes herself out of bed gently and slowly, determined not to wake Twyla, who’s warm and cuddly looking next to her. Alexis is super glad and doesn't regret at all inviting Twy to sleep with Alexis in her bed, since everyone knows a couple of gal pals can share a bed like adults without wanting to spoon one another even a little bit.

For a couple of minutes, Alexis keeps deep, steady breaths going as her brain rolls through the checklist for tonight. It's actually way soothing, since she's had every task it was possible to do in advance done for days, or even weeks: everything booked and in place for Son & Captain's soft launch. Too bad she couldn’t convince them that their name would sound better if they swapped the word order… But that ship has sailed. As far as tonight is concerned, all she has to do is get on site and get everything in place. Twy can meet her there and enjoy some edible paper or whatever while Alexis does her twenty-first century girl boss schtick.

*

Alexis is nervous as hell, and if she had her way, she'd already be on location pacing back and forth up and down a busy New York street until 6pm comes and the permit she obtained a month ago officially allows her to cordon off the street. Instead, she delves into getting her hair and make-up done.

A few hours later, after Twy has gotten up, had a shower of her own (not even complaining, bless her, about the lukewarm water left over after everyone else in the building has taken their turn), and forged forth to bring them back pastries for brunch, they head out together, Twyla taking a couple of books to Central Park, Alexis to prep the soft launch.

"Just like, only get in a taxi if it's yellow, okay Twy? I don't have time to give you the low down on the whole medallion system right now, so that's just easier."

The venue comprises one block of a cordoned off street in midtown, which Lief, the resto-cart-eatery owner, and Alexis determined was the best possible spot for his kind of street food. Hours slip by in what feels like minutes as Alexis oversees the blocking off of the street to vehicle traffic and the stream of workers who arrive last minute with temporary furniture—tables and chairs for those invited to eat their way through Lief's offerings. The cart won't usually have these, of course; they're just for the sake of the launch. 

Alexis splits her time between telling delivery workers to move 'that over there. No, yeah, but like, _more_ over there', showing security workers where to set up stations to vet invitees, and congratulating herself for not losing all focus wondering what Twyla is up to.

Finally, nine o'clock rolls around. Alexis puts on an ingratiating smile to greet the local VIPs she fanangled into coming to the launch of _another_ hipster food cart and directs them to their tables to sip a signature pilsner commissioned from a local brewery before the food service begins.

Because she's a fucking _professional_ , Alexis definitely doesn't visibly deflate everytime her eye catches someone approaching the area who turns out to be a non-Twyla. 

Fortunately for her, Alexis doesn't have to keep this up too long; Twyla, true to form, shows up smiling and high ponytailed at precisely 9:20, just when Alexis told her to make a fashionably late entrance. As Twyla approaches, Alexis can see what she's decided to wear for the launch—the black and silver dress. Alexis's old dress. It looks great on her, not _as_ good as it had on Alexis, of course, but that strangely doesn't prevent her having purely sartorial thoughts of climbing back into it as she hugs Twyla in greeting.

"Twy! You made it! You got a yellow cab?" 

"Actually I walked from your place. I wanted to see some more of the city."

"Look at you, Twy! That's like a billion blocks. You're like an Olympic walker or a mail deliverer or something." Alexis feels her face scrunch in delight as she lightly bats with both hands at the part of Twyla's arm exposed below the sleeve of her old dress. The dress that used to belong to her. That Twyla wore to say goodbye when Alexis was still at the Rosebud. Alexis scolds herself for being a sap on the job and tries to get her head back on straight—there's still a couple hours of the soft launch left.

"Why don't you grab a seat over there, at the two-person table, and I'll join you soon, once everyone is here and we segue into debuting the food."

"Will do. I'm excited to be on the other side of the table for a change."

"Love that for you." Alexis turns back to the door in time to greet a sourdough influencer and his boyfriend.

By 9:45 all the guests have arrived and been seated. The outdoor space, warmed up by rented patio heaters, is filled with the sounds of mismatched beer mugs that Alexis spent weeks purchasing, one by one, from a million Goodwills clinking into one another and the chatter of the guests. 

Alexis looks around in approval and sashays over to a table in the corner where Twyla's sipping her pilsner and looking weirded out. "How is it?" Alexis picks up her own, full mug and sniffs.

"It's really… interesting," Twyla hedges. "It's got a flavour I can't place."

"That's the Irish clay," Lief says, as he strolls past them to the approximate middle of the seating area, clears his throat, and makes a fairly boring speech about "new tastes," "bespoke food combinations," and "locally-owned, avant garde food experience locales."

"Sorry this part is a snooze," Alexis whispers, leaning over the cheap, plastic table toward Twyla so that she can hear. "The food stuff should only take an hour and a half, and then hopefully it won't take too long to break everything down and we can leave and get something to eat."

Twyla pulls a confused face as Alexis gets up from the table and heads into the cab of a large moving van, which currently hosts all of tonight's prepped food. They couldn't possibly feed a guest list of fifty from the cart itself. Lief finishes his speech to a smattering of light applause. In the cab, Alexis gives the food service staff the go ahead to start laying out the first plates.

Once they're all whisked out and placed on the tables of unsuspecting diners, Alexis returns to her seat at the table with Twyla, who's looking both hungrily and disappointedly at the plate before her.

"Um…"

"Don't worry Twy," Alexis cajoles, barely above a whisper, "just smile and pretend to nibble it or something and I'll take you for the best falafel of your life when we're done here. We can grab take out and eat in front of some trash t.v.—cool?"

"Cool," Twyla agrees, smiling earnestly. Though Alexis notices her smile flag and turn pretty fake as Twyla picks up and contemplates the item from her plate: a completely charred bun filled with what appears to be some kind of shrimp and mayo filling.

"Well this looks DELISH." Alexis picks up her charred bun like she's selling a household item on The Price is Right and performatively guides it to her mouth. "Mmmm." She takes a tiny nibble and tries to cover up a cough as the charcoal absorbs all moisture there has ever been and ever shall be in her mouth and throat.

They do their best to make the buns disappear while they await the next "course," and actually make a bit of a game of it, competing over who can manage the biggest bite without choking or secret more char dust into her purse most discreetly using sleight of hand.

Despite the grotesque food—or perhaps because of it?—the launch seems to be going well. All around Alexis and Twyla's table, hipsters and high key social climbers are eating their charcoal and shellfish mayo with apparent relish. As far as Alexis is concerned, the whole thing is fake as fuck. She used to turn down twenty invitations like this a month just to avoid these kinds of posers, who'll literally eat soot to ingratiate themselves with a thirty-year-old trust-fund man-child if they think it'll help their upward social aspirations. But these people aren't her business any more, or rather they are exactly her business, but not her friends and not her problem.

The gathered guests are making a fair bit of noise, and Alexis is glad she decided to do this whole thing above board, with a permit from the city. As she and Twyla try to make their ash and shrimp vanish, Twyla scooches her chair closer to Alexis's, and they have to lean close to hear one another over the sound of another successful Alexis Rose Consulting event.

"I'm starving." Twyla speaks directly into Alexis's ear, then sniffs at the tall glass containing her bacon and maple milkshake before adding, "Still, how many people have friends who can get them into a street food launch party in Manhattan?" 

"Mmmm hmmmm. Such a friendly night." Alexis squeezes her eyes and mouth shut and nods a couple of times. "So good to do friend activities with friends." Which is exactly what they are, despite the fact that Alexis's face feels like she sucked on a lemon. 

They _are_ here as friends, so Alexis doesn't know why Twy's words make her feel weird. Alexis invited her good friend Twyla to come and stay in her apartment and sleep in her bed. Like friends do. It's just that, between the banter, the complaints about the proclivities of hipster men, foregoing solid foods for pilsner, and the plans to go on a midnight falafel run before diving into bed to chill and watch InterFlix, Alexis realizes it has started to feel kind of… well, it's silly, she thinks, but… kind of like a date.

So silly.

Alexis composes herself and assures Twyla, "Only two more plates to go and we're home free." She casts around for a _friendly_ topic of conversation to get them back on track. "Is this song by Wilco or Caribou?"

*

Pleased with another job well done, Alexis and Twyla sleep in late the next day, then scamper around the city. Alexis gives Twyla hot tips while dragging her by the hand (what kind of host would she be if she let Twyla get separated from her and trampled by the commuter traffic!?!?!) through crowds of people, like how you never—no matter how peopled-out you are—get into an empty subway car.

"They call it the stink car," Alexis had said gravely, wriggling her fingers in a mystical manner as she'd led Twyla by the hand into a cramped car heading off to do some shopping.

While Twyla shops and Alexis wishes she could, Alexis has to keep her eye on her phone, replying to urgent emails and putting up ghost-posts on her clients' Instagrams. After a few hours, Twyla has six new paisley tops and Alexis is just glad she's happy.

Before they head home, Twyla, who's been _so great_ so far about not bringing up the whole taintned sink situation, gently mentions that Alexis doesn't seem to have much silver- or flatware. In fact, after her only spoon got pissed on, Alexis is down to one plate, one fork, and a medium-sized metal mixing bowl.

"We could look for some dishes," Twyla suggests eagerly. "Check out a couple of thrift stores and find a nice set!"

So Alexis lets Twyla guide her through the aisles of several second-hand shops that smell like moth balls. Despite Alexis's alternative at home being literally nothing, she vetoes several sets that Twyla points out. At the third store they try, Twyla rifles through a kitchenware aisle next to an older woman picking through steaming baskets. 

"Oh, Alexis, what about these ones?" Twyla holds up a simple, translucent, green, glass plate whose only ornamentation is some understated rippling at the edges. 

"Is that depression ware?" The basket hunter asks, looking over.

"I'm not sure," Twyla admits. "I just thought they were nice. And there's a whole set here." 

Twyla begins counting the number of each differently sized plate and bowl, and Alexis picks one up to consider it. "So these actually are like, super cute for me."

Twyla smiles at her. "There are at least six of everything. I think we can get all of that back on the subway between us and still have space for cutlery. What do you think?"

"You girls shacking up?" The woman asks knowingly as she considers the weave of a less battered basket.

"Hmmm?" Alexis starts frenziedly gathering up the plates.

"Just trying to get all stocked up," Twy tells the older woman.

"Well those plates will last you your whole lives if you take good care of them. Take care of each other too, mind you." She nods at them and walks off, leaving Alexis counting and recounting bowls and plates and asking Twyla if she thinks six of each is enough.

*

After a day of running around the city and their impromptu dish bonanza, which included lugging heavy and fragile glassware home across several subway lines, Alexis decides on just a super chill and pal-y outing. As she packs things up, though, she's forced to reckon with the reality that, while at thirty-four years old she now owns her first ever set of dishes, she really doesn't have a bag big enough to accommodate all the day's supplies. Bulky handbags are just not a cute look for her. She spares a thought about buying a backpack, but dismisses it outright: it would ruin the line of all her ensembles.

With the apartment so small, Alexis straightens her hair in the kitchenette so Twyla can shower. While she pulls her straightener through sections of hair, Alexis brainstorms a way to carry everything she wants with them today. For some reason it feels super important to do this _right_. Just, like, to show Twy how glad Alexis is that she came. A friendly thank you for coming to visit.

A lightbulb goes off in Alexis's mind: she thinks she remembers seeing one of those canvas-y tote bags under the sink when she moved in. The kind Whole Foods charges like five bucks for when you forget your own bags at home and know you can't make it twenty blocks with paper bags that her dad would classify as 'cheap ass' without a second thought.

Alexis can't recall ever walking around carrying a tote bag, but she's pretty sure there's some kind of old-timey saying about desperate times, so while Twy gets dressed and does her hair in the bathroom, Alexis stuffs the afternoon's necessities into the uncute but useful tote.

After a brisk walk, Alexis gestures for Twyla to precede her into a tiny park. Twy turns to look at Alexis with a smile on her face. "Missing nature?"

Alexis shrugs and walks them over to what can only barely be called a stream, where she pulls a small, rolled up blanket out of the tote. Well, it's not so much a blanket as one of her wool ponchos laid out flat, but that's what she had on hand.

Alexis indicates Twyla should sit down.

"What a great spot!" Twyla takes a seat and Alexis sits down next to her, crossing her legs. 

Twyla adjusts her position on the poncho so that she's turned halfway towards the water, halfway towards Alexis. 

"Cute, right?" Alexis asks, seeking Twyla's approval about the day's activity. "I got a pretty good handle on New York's secluded spots the year I was a beard—we always came to these places, like, super unsneakily to get spotted by the paparazzi, you know the drill." Alexis flips a couple of pieces of hair into the air as she speaks.

"Not really," Twyla admits. "But I can see why people would come here. What a nice break from the crowds and noise."

In truth, they can still hear traffic in the background, and what sounds like two people carrying out a balcony-to-street conversation on an adjacent street. But still. 

Alexis suspects that any response she might come up with would sound sappy and nostalgic, so she opts out, digging into her handbag instead. "Snacks?" she asks, shaking a bag of veggie sticks in one hand and a package of hipster beef jerky in the other.

"Alexis, you brought us on a picnic!"

"It's nothing," Alexis faux-deflects, smiling in a self-satisfied way while she pulls out two slim cans of Perrier.

They sit on the bank of the creek for a while, admiring the scene, as well as the odd bird and even, once, a chipmunk.

As they chat, Twyla keeps fidgeting with her hair. She emerged from Alexis's bathroom this morning sporting her signature half-braid-crown, and as they've whiled away an hour taking park selfies and trying to coax the chipmunk over with snacks, it's become an utter mess under her seemingly thoughtless tampering.

During a lull in the conversation, as Twyla worries her hair worse than ever, trying to poke the bits she's pulled out back into place, Alexis feels she should intervene. For friend reasons. Not because Twyla's undyed and unfried hair looks like silk and Alexis wonders how it feels. "Want me to fix that?"

"You don't have to." Twyla looks at the grass and shakes her head as though to dismiss Alexis's offer.

Alexis's stomach does some kind of thing she ignores. "You're talking to the girl who once escaped a Russian fortress by braiding together sheets. Way stronger than just using knots, I'll have you know." 

Alexis gestures to Twy's hair, and Twyla nods. "As long as you don't mind. I can probably do it myself even without a mirror…."

"Yes, yes." Alexis gently swats Twyla's hand away from where it's reached back up to the braid. "You're the undisputed queen of the half-braid-crown. But I promise I'm a hair wizard, and it'll be easier for me than for you without a mirror."

Twyla nods and smiles conspiratorially. "Okay."

Alexis shifts herself closer to Twyla, effectively enconscing Twyla in her lap. Not really, of course. No, on second thought she's definitely outside the limits of Alexis's lap zone. She's lap adjacent, if anything. 

Alexis reaches behind her hair and feels around for a bobby pin, pulling it free, careful not to pull Twy's hair. 

"You probably won't even be able to braid it now," Twy remarks. "It feels tangled."

"I told you—" Alexis stretches past Twyla to her own handbag, pulling out a foldy hairbrush. "Hair wizard." She makes quick work of the tangles before sectioning off Twy's hair. 

"Feels nice," Twy says softly. "I haven't had anyone do my hair in ages. Reminds me of sleepovers in junior high."

"Right? Like I remember living in my friend Maddy's loft with like seven other Ford models." 

"The classic high junior high experience." Twyla laughs.

*

When they get back to Alexis's place, they're both pretty chilly from sitting for so long outdoors in late October. Alexis's brain self-righteously points out that, had Twyla actually been in her lap—had they been, say, cuddling—Alexis wouldn't be so cold. And that's how she knows it was like, an extremely amicable picnic and definitely nothing like a date.

Twyla asks Alexis if she minds if Twy soaks in the tub to warm up while Alexis gets some work done. 

"A bath! Right! Wow! Wowie! Such a good idea you little brainiac." Alexis's fingers trot in a spritely manner up Twyla's arm for emphasis before she basically pushes Twyla into the bathroom. The sooner Twy is in the bath the sooner Alexis can dive into some work shit, which she really should stay on top of, and which means she definitely can't be thinking of Twyla lying naked in her bathtub, a place where she, Alexis Rose, is sometimes also naked.

Shaking her head vigorously, Alexis takes her one and only seat and starts checking her work email as Twy, from the sound of things, starts running a hot bath.

Before Alexis can even open a promising looking email from a potential new client, however, she sees a notification from David pop up at the top of her screen.

Acorn man: _So how was the *date*?_

Alexis audibly scoffs, but whips her head around, taking in the whole room as though David is going to pop out from a cupboard or from under the bed. How could he even know they went on a date? Which they didn't anyway! It was a friendly picnic! How could David know they got back from a friendly non-date picnic like thirty seconds ago and already be giving her shit about it?!

Me: _Ummm, what are you even talking about?_

Acorn man: _"Ummm" how about your romantic picnic in the park with Twyla today? Patrick just sent me a photo she posted on Instagram_

Patrick! 

Me: _Okay, first of all, the picnic wasn't romantic, David. It was *cosy* which it totally the new friend mood, according to all the What To Normalise In The 2020s lists on tumblr_

Acorn man: Tumblr? Are you 15??

Me: _Don't be such a dick, David!_

Me: _Anyway tumblr isn't the point_

Acorn Man: _And what, prey tell, *is* the point?_

Alexis actually grrrrs as she types.

Me: _The point... I mean the point, obviously, is that Twyla and me enjoyed a nice, cosy, platonic picnic_

Acorn man: _Where you BRAIDED HER HAIR_

Alexis launches her head backward away from the phone as far as her neck will carry it.

Me: _How do you even know that?????_

Acorn man: _She gave you hair credit in a caption!_

Me: _Oh my god, David!! You are being so Extra right now!_

Acorn Man: _So, counting your shopping trip and your intimate supper (I want one of those bacon and maple milkshakes, by the way), what date number is this?_

Me: _Twyla and I *aren't* dating David! I was basically working the whole time at the cart launch and when I wasn't, Twy and I spent all our time mocking the hipsters_

After the text is delivered, Alexis sees the agonising three dots icon, followed shortly by a message from Patrick.

The best of both worlds: _David is fully focussed on typing right now, but wants me to tell you not to go 'afk', because he's typing up two "incisive rebuttals."_

Me: _OMG Patrick! Whose side are you even on here???_

The best of both worlds: _David's. These are dates, Alexis._

Acorn man: _1) Mocking hipsters is the very foundation of any successful date, courtship, or romance; 2) you braided. her. hair. on. a. creek. bed._

Me: _What??? Tween girls braid their friends' hair, David! It's not date-y_

The best of both worlds: _Wow, if I had a nickel for all the "not date-y" stuff I did as tween_

Alexis rolls her eyes at Patrick and quickly changes his contact name in her phone to something more appropriate before responding dismissively.

Me: _Patrick you're not helping!_

David's lackey: _Don't shoot the messenger!_

Alexis moves to their group chat to avoid switching back and forth.

Me: _There is no messenger! There is NO message!_

Alexis is getting pretty flustered when her dad texts her.

Dad: _Alexis, your mother and I want to know how your date with Twyla went_

Alexis slides aggressively back into her fraternal group chat.

Me: _OH MY GOD DAVID!!! Tell mum and dad I'm not dating Twyla!_

This time David's response comes from their private DM. 

Acorn man: _K, I am going to drop this, since it's Not Cool to force someone out, Alexis, but maybe just think about it_

Me: _I don't care about that, David! Like you're the only one in this family with more than one preferred pound!??? Narcissistic much?!_

Acorn man: _Well that makes me feel a little better about accidentally crossing into aggro queer zone, but why won't you admit something is going on between you two? Have you SEEN Twyla's instas?_

Me: _Of course I have! And since I was there, at the places and in the selfies you're talking about, I think I might have a slightly better of what's going on in them than you do_

David doesn't text back. Instead he calls her over FaceTime. Grudgingly, she answers.

"Can I help you?" Alexis can see Patrick in the background looking amused.

"Alexis," David says in that slow, explanatory voice he does when he thinks he's right. Alexis loves it when it's directed at mum or dad or Patrick or whatever. She likes it a lot less when she's on the business end. "You bought _homewares_ together."

Before Alexis can tell David he makes 'homewares' sound like a controlled substance, the bathroom door emerges and Twy comes out, wrapped in one towel and drying her hair with another. 

"I thought I heard David." she says brightly.

"Hi Twyla!" David calls.

"We hope you're having a great trip!" Patrick adds. The traitor.

"Chew tacks." Alexis slams her laptop shut.

*

That night, Alexis gets basically no sleep. She's too busy coming up with insults and rationales to lob at David and Patrick. She's a bit grumpy the next morning, when Twyla broaches the subject of the Halloween party.

"Do you have a costume yet?"

"Oh, I haven't really had time to put together a new one. But I swiped my costume from Cabaret, so I figured I'd wear that."

"Oh. Great." Twyla's forced smile doesn't extend to her voice.

"Why do you ask? Do you have a costume planned? I know you're obvi a packer extraordinaire and everything, but I doubt even you managed to cram a Halloween costume into your adorable little bags."

"I didn't. I've kind of had an aversion to Halloween ever since I had to miss trick or treating when I was twelve because my mom had to take her boyfriend and his friends to the hospital after they fired Roman candles at each other."

"Yum." Alexis grimaces. "Are you sure you want to come to the Halloween part, then?"

"Definitely." Twyla gives a resolved nod, complete with million dollar smile. "And, actually," Twyla adds coyly, "I even had a costume idea."

"Twy! Look at you!" Alexis delivers several winks with each eye. "Lay it on me, girl."

"So I was thinking, how cute would it be if we did something matching?"

"Oh my gosh, like two sexy Minions!"

"Something like that," Twyla deflects. "I was texting with Patrick last night, and he gave me some great ideas!"

"Mmm'k." Alexis cocks her head to one side and does her confused-pout. "And what kind of ideas did Patrick suggest?"

"Well, what about Xena and Gabrielle?" 

Alexis's face assumes whatever the antithesis of bemused blankness is.

"Okay, I know. I thought it might be too campy for you. But we could do something less dated. What about a couple of inmates? We could go as characters from _Orange is the New Black_!"

"Mmmmm." Alexis nods and squints. "Did Patrick suggest that one too?"

"David, actually," Twyla informs her excitedly.

"Fu-uhn! But let's just put that decision on ice for now and—"

"Oh, sure." Twyla shakes her head, as though to dislodge any notion she would press the issue if Alexis is keen to drop it. "I just want to say, you've been working so hard and showing me such a good time—"

Alexis nods aggressively. "A good, friendly time."

"Right." Twyla laughs awkwardly. "And I know that this party is a big deal for you and you have so much to coordinate already, so I want you to let me sort out the costumes."

Alexis gapes. "Super fun idea, Twy, but—"

"I know you have a really specific style, but it's Halloween, and if you give me a list of hard nos, I promise I'll find you something glamourous. You'll be the belle of the ball."

Alexis feels like she's being tasered from several different directions at once. Twyla is having _fun_ with her. Twyla thinks she's a great host, and a hard worker, and glamorous. Twy thinks she can be the belle of the ball. Twy…

Alexis takes a deep breath and summons all the wherewithal she can muster in the face of potential—even likely—costume adversity. She can see the nerves working behind Twyla's eyes, the earnestness with which the offer was made, and that's it, really.

"Okay, fine," she blurts. "The costumes are officially your thing. But I don't wear flats unless I'm running and, don't tell anyone, but I look terrible in a red wig."

Twyla nods in smiling affirmation. "Got it. This is going to be so fun! I promise you won't regret it."

When the costume discussion is sorted, they both keep themselves busy for a while. Twyla is presumably hunting down costume shops that still have anything to offer, and Alexis is sending messages to a million PAs confirming that the little gift bags she sent to the VIP list for the Halloween party have all made it to their addressees.

By the time that's done, it's raining cats and dogs. Twyla, ever the Pollyanna, says she's about ready for a day in any way. Alexis jumps at the opportunity to stay in and off her feet after several days taking the city by storm in stilettos.

"Love that for us," she assures Twyla, who looks relieved.

"Great! You know what I could go for? Curling up under a blanket and watching a Disney movie. I have a Plus subscription, if you don't. I _loved_ singing along to all the princess parts when I was little."

"That makes sense, since your look is basically Ariel realness." Alexis gestures to the powerful front swoop in Twyla's hair.

Twyla touches her hair bashfully. No, not bashfully, Alexis decides, chuffedly. She's chuffed that a style icon whose hats have been featured in _Us Weekly_ 's Boldest Choice lists no less than three times has complimented her hair.

"What should we watch?" Alexis heads to the kitchenette and digs out a pack of microwave popcorn. "I hope you like popcorn. It's kind of like, all I have at the moment." 

"Love it," Twy says agreeably. "What do you want to watch?"

"Nuh uh," Alexis deflects magnanimously, "guest's choice."

"No, I insist—"

"Okay fine!" Alexis interjects, flopping both hands forward in a pastiche of defeat. She thinks for a minute and tosses the package into the microwave. She's just about to say Mulan, and immediately dismisses the idea as she imagines what David would have to say about _that_ pick in _this_ context. Thinking about David naturally directs her thoughts to passive aggressive queer villains, and she smiles. "Hercules?"

"Oh I love that one! You know my mom once dated a guy who came second place in a Danny DeVito look alike contest."

Alexis nods a few times slowly. "So cool."

Twyla grabs her laptop and heads to Alexis's bed to burrow under the covers, then starts queuing up the movie. When the microwave beeps, Alexis grabs the salty, fake-buttery corn and hops in next to her.

They settle in and Alexis actually finds it cute when Twyla sings along. No, she tells herself resolutely, not cute… endearing. No!—sweet! Earnest! Yes, that's it, she thinks smugly, _earnest_. They watch along, Alexis cackling and filming short clips of Hades being a jealous brother and sending them to David. 

"I always loved Meg," Alexis says when she's introduced. "Style icon. And scathing."

A short time later, when Meg sings about refusing to admit she's in love, Alexis mutters, "Et tu, Meg?"

She mustn't be as quiet as she thinks, because Twyla responds, grabbing a handful of popcorn, "I think that was the Romans, not the Greeks."

*

The next couple of days Alexis leaves Twyla to her own devices as she does overtime ingratiating her heiress client with the people who _still_ haven't RSVP'd for the Halloween party. It's hard not to think how just a few years ago she was on the other side of the whole arrangement. She could have heated their mansion burning the invitations she received... Goodie bags would arrive on event days from the best represented celebs trying to bribe her into attending. She didn't always go, of course, and she really hopes that five years at the motel paid off that karmic debt, because she _really_ needs tonight's event to go well. Sure, the attendees might be spoiled, D-list brats, but she could _really_ use some of them as clients.

Twyla takes it all in stride. She keeps herself busy during the day when Alexis is sending out texts and arranging to have face masks and flowers and fragrances delivered all around town. In the evenings they stroll around the city, find little hole-in-the-walls to grab dinner, and watch more movies in bed. But no more Disney. Alexis will never trust them again after Meg's personal betrayal.

*

On Friday, the day before Halloween, it's the first of Alexis's two biggest events yet. Tonight is the InterFlix premier, a gig Alexis got on the coattails of _The Crowening_. Fortunately, this time she had more time and the resources to hire competent people, and the premier is going smoothly.

So it's only when all the pomp and circumstance is over and she's settled in her seat as the film begins that Alexis thinks that in hindsight, she probably should have foreseen that this _might_ , possibly, if a person were squinting, seem like a date. Alexis and Twyla's seats are in the very back of the cinema, in precisely the location she and Macaulay used to make out. 

Alexis does her best to remind herself that people in the world totally go to movies together all the time and it definitely does not mean they are dating or even maybe having five-alarm chest feelings for their friends. When Alexis thinks about things in this extremely logical light, her brain starts off on a tangent about how maybe the problem is that _anything_ she does with Twyla feels like a date. Which is rude, because Alexis moved to New York City to be a strong independent girl boss flying solo, not to get into another relationship with someone way more mature and stable than her who has to prop her up all the time and doesn't even live in the same city.

In the midst of Alexis's circular thinking, the theatre gasps collectively and Twyla simultaneously jumps, clutches her heart with one hand, and grabs Alexis's reflexively with the other.

She leans to her left and whispers into Alexis's ear, as quietly as she can, "I'm such a wimp." Her breath makes an electric feeling run down Alexis's spine.

"You do you, girl," Alexis whispers back.

"Do you mind?" Twyla asks, lifting their interlocked hands off the arm rest just slightly and giving Alexis's hand a light squeeze. "Honestly it's embarrassing to be such a fraidy-cat this close to forty."

Alexis pulls her most reassuring scrunchy face and shakes her head. "It's fine, Twy."

She spends the rest of the film determinedly staring at the screen. Hilarious, she thinks aggressively into the void, chewing on and pursing her lips interchangeably.

*

Finally, Alexis's alarm goes off at eight o'clock on 31 October. She stifles a yawn and turns off the twinkling alarm before it can wake Twy.

She takes a deep breath in. _You've got this,_ she assures herself. 

She slips out of bed and heads to the tiny bathroom to grab a lukewarm shower and fix her hair so she can head to the venue and start making things happen.

At the empty warehouse in the Meat Packing District, things are a whirlwind, and Alexis is the still point in the middle of it all. On the second floor decorators are everywhere, stapling cobwebs into corners and hanging fake bats, and the DJ is setting up and nodding as Alexis forbids her to play Monster Mash remixes more than six times over the course of the night no matter how many requests she gets. Alexis spent a whole day ghost-posting on her client's Instagram last week, using interactive stories to solicit people's favourite spooky songs. She's compiled such a cute playlist, and she's not going to have all that work come to nothing more than a night of Monster Mash on repeat.

On the ground floor, further decorators are assembling and dressing a creepy maze filled with jumpscares and a spooky soundtrack. Alexis checks the time on her phone. In a couple of hours, a small team of actors should be arriving, whose job it will be, in the guise of zombies, witches, vamps, and werewolves, to scare the bejesus out of the guests as they make their way upstairs.

It's all coming together nicely and, most importantly, on time, if Alexis does say so herself. The host, of course, will be arriving fashionably late, and Alexis tries not to think about how much responsibility for this party has been put on her alone and what it will mean for her client prospects if she pulls this off without a hitch. She shakes off the anxiety-producing circular thinking. Admittedly, this would be easier if her mother weren't texting her every few minutes with "directional exhortations," based on her "decades of experience attending haut monde carousals." 

Like any self-respecting Halloween party, this one starts late. While usually Alexis adheres to the rules of fashionable lateness, it wouldn't do to have guests arriving while she's costumeless and in her favourite, good-luck, silver, velvet baby doll dress. Twyla should be arriving a good half hour before the party officially starts, bringing with her whatever costume she's picked for Alexis. Alexis tries not to dwell on the many ways that could go wrong. If David's had a hand in it, she'll probably end up the Samantha Ronson to Twy's LiLo.

At precisely 10:29 Alexis gets a text from one of the bouncers at the main entrance letting her know someone's asking to see her. Alexis tells him to let Twyla up and tries to tamp down the panic rising in her about what she might end up wearing tonight. If it's terrible, maybe she can fashion a crude toga out of some of the set dressing? Like that time during Greek Week with Sarah Michelle Gellar. 

The DJ has put a playlist on while she sets up all her equipment, and when Tyw makes it up to the second floor and heads toward Alexis, a Whitney Houston banger from Alexis's childhood is playing. As Twy walks across the large, open space, hair bouncing with each step, Alexis pushes all Whitney-inspired thoughts of dancing with somebody who loves her out of her mind to focus on greeting her totally platonic friend in a fully normal way.

"Alexis!" Twyla's carrying two large bags. "This is so exciting! A real celebrity Halloween party! I've got our stuff here." She lifts both bags a bit for emphasis. 

"You sure do!!" Alexis chokes out, looking fearfully at all the bulk. Bulk is rarely a signal of cuteness.

"Is there somewhere we can change?"

Alexis leads Twyla to a large bathroom with three stalls. 

"Okay, so I know you were nervous about letting me pick, and that you seemed a little leery of the campy options I suggested, and I know I promised you glamour, and I really wanted to deliver on that, so… close your eyes."

Alexis sees Twyla bend over to reach into one of the large bags before she complies. Mostly. She only peeks a tiny bit out the bottom of her squinting eyes, and can't really see much, so it's not cheating. After a minute or two of rustling and the sounds of Twyla arranging the fabric, Twyla orders Alexis to open her eyes.

The costume Twyla is holding up in front of her body leaves Alexis speechless. She blinks a few times.

"Oh no. You hate it." Twyla's face falls.

"Twy, it's a late eighteenth-century French court dress. How could I hate that?" Alexis reaches forward and grabs a handful of lush, green material, feeling it between her fingers.

"Oh, phew." Twyla literally sags in relief. "Also, I guess I really shouldn't be surprised by your knowledge of historical fashions."

"You absolutely shouldn't," Alexis agrees. "What are you wearing?" 

Twyla hands the green dress over to Alexis, who presses it against herself, aligning the bodice with her torso and taking in the effect of the dazzling figure she cuts in the floor length mirror as Twy drags another large dress—this one in red—out of the second bag.

"Oh my gosh Twy I love these for us!"

Alexis continues admiring herself and the dress in the mirror as Twyla says, "I'm going to get mine on."

"Same." 

"Well aren't we just a couple of fancy mademoiselles," Alexis enthuses once they've both zipped each other up and they're admiring the fit of the dresses properly in the mirrors. Alexis is trout pouting for all she's worth as she takes in her appearance, pleased with the look of the green and red dresses together and quietly delighted that Twyla, true friend that she is, chose the fancier gown for Alexis. 

"Let's snap a teaser." Alexis and Twy both take mirror selfies of the two of them and toss them on Instagram using the party's hashtag. 

Alexis is sliding her phone back into her bodice but before she can even let go, it buzzes. She can't ignore it—it could be her client.

Acorn man: _Wow. So I'm guessing you're done pretending you and Twyla aren't a thing now?_

Me: _???_

Me: _Honestly David I don't have time for this I'm organizing a massive Halloween partly literally right now_

Acorn man: 

Fuck.

Alexis doesn't have time for this.

Me: _How sad is it that you're so unengaged on Halloween that you have time to send me screen caps?_

Acorn man: _Oh, I would *never* have been too occupied to make these important visual connections_

Alexis ignores David to look at the screen cap he sent. On its own it's just a hot and joyful image of a woman in red holding a woman in green's face in a position of utmost love. In context, however, it kinda seems like Twyla dressed them up as these old-timey, iconic, French lesbians. Which is like, right on! and everything, but, Alexis thinks, would have been suggestive on it's own, even if they hadn't just spent over a week in which everything from mocking hipsters to shopping to eating popcorn had felt pretty much… dately.

And it's not that Alexis is anti-date! Between the reality show and tabloid coverage of most of her teens and twenties, there is a massive body of documentary evidence proving irrefutably just how strongly in favour of dating Alexis is. 

And it's certainly not that Alexis is anti-Twyla!

It's just that Alexis had a plan. The plan was to move to New York and stretch her wings and prove to herself that she can be as independent as she used to be without the safety net of her parent's former wealth there to catch her—to pay bribes, bail, and, more than a few times, for the safe return of a hostage.

The plan was _not_ to move, get her business off to a solid start, and then, what? Lose sight of everything for a new romantic prospect? Move back to Schitt's Creek? She just really has trouble not reading the whole situation as a bit rude, considering her last relationship dissolved because of co-dependency and distance. And now this? Thanks _so_ much, universe!

While Alexis's brain is working over time, Twyla's been tucking her street clothes into the bag her costume came in. "Is there a place we can leave this stuff for the night?" 

"Yeah," says quietly as she exhales. "There's an office space upstairs that locks. We can dump everything there until the party's over."

"Lead the way," Twyla says brightly. 

"Mmm, yeah sure." 

"Is everything okay, Alexis?" Twy asks. "Did you want to swap dresses? I thought you'd like that one better, but—"

"Ummm," Alexis cuts her off, and Twyla looks confused and expectant as she waits for Alexis to go on. 

Alexis wants to power through. Say nothing about the costumes. Pretend that everything she does with Twyla doesn't automatically feel like a date just because Twy's there. Pretend she's not being totally effed by the universe, which seems to keep dangling like, literally the best, sweetest little logistical disasters in front of her. She's happy to ignore all this. But, frankly, she's also terrible at containing her emotions and she's _just about_ had a lid on this for a week, which is literally a record-breaking stint for her. She's maxed out.

"So Twy, like, I can't help but notice.. No wait. Umm." She laughs nervously. “What I mean is.. So, yeah, I guess I'm just seeking some clarity about—"

"Whether or not this is a date?" Twyla finishes.

"Oh my god, yes!" Alexis shouts, knees bending deeply, dragging her body down in literal, physical relief before she pops back up.

"I wasn't sure," Twyla says plainly. "But I hoped so."

"You did?" Alexis's traitor mouth has the audacity to sound relieved and twitterpated even as her mind yells at her: _No! This is not the plan! You're a bad ass single girl boss making it on her own!_

"Yeah. I thought I was picking up a vibe," Twyla confesses. "But I wasn't sure. Now that we're here all _Portrait of a Lady on Fire,_ it's really sinking in how much better an idea it would have been to just ask you earlier than to rent a couples costume and see what you said."

"Oh, Twy, no. Well, I mean, yes. But it's okay. I didn't say anything either, and now that we're here…"

"Yes?" Twyla looks at Alexis hopefully. 

There's a very substantial part of Alexis that wants to unload everything she's thinking in a giant, messy tangent, like she used to do at the café. She opens her mouth to begin, but she can hear the words she's about to say run through her head, and she closes it again. The prospect of speaking the thoughts she's been worrying about aloud casts them in a new light. Give up her business and move back to Schitt's Creek to follow a new lover that she's not even positive she's actually been on a date with yet? Not pulling this kind of shit anymore is literally the exact reason she broke things off with Ted. Moreover, Twyla is not Ted. Twyla and Alexis haven't built a relationship based on one of them constantly propping the other up. 

Alexis starts pushing down the cuticles of her left hand with the nails of her right as embarrassment washes over her about how close she's just come to telling Twyla she was essentially planning to shack up without any input from Twyla at all.

"Alexis?"

Alexis looks from her cuticles to Twyla. Twyla, who said she'd hoped this was a date but who hasn't otherwise been at all weird, pressurely, presumptive, or overbearing. Alexis loves that about Twy, and thinks maybe approaching a date-type situation with that kind of levity would be good for her. She lets out a breath, sucks her lips together, and makes a decision. 

"So you said before you wanted this to be a date?" Alexis phrases it like a question.

Twyla nods in agreement.

"Well then I guess my question is, did you hope any of our other outings were dates?" Twyla opens her mouth to answer, but Alexis goes on. "And if we both wanted them to be, then were they?"

"Is this like the tree falling in the woods thing?" Twyla asks.

"What?" 

"You know: if a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?"

"So are we the trees? Or like, the sound?" Alexis purses her lips, thinking. "You know what, nevermind. New question: does this mean we've been dating this whole time? Or like…" She clenches her lower jaw and her eyes go wide, as though to say: 'yikes @ us.'

"Maybe not the _whole_ time." Twyla looks thoughtful.

"So like, what would _you_ say was our first date?"

"You know what?" Twyla steps closer to Alexis, and takes each of Alexis's hands in hers. "I don't think it matters, as long as this is one."

She looks Alexis in the eyes and raises her eyebrows, seeking confirmation.

Alexis leans toward her and nods, first barely at all, but then with more pep. 

She doesn't know what will happen when Twyla goes home. But she knows that she does want to be on a date with her tonight. And even though it seems like they've probably been on at least a few ambiguous, not-entirely-witting dates in the past, she'd love to have some more on purpose ones in the future. 

Alexis is now leaning so close to Twyla that the tips of their noses are touching. She smirks and presses her nose into Twy's with the lightest bit of pressure, then shakes her head a bit, giving her a nose kiss.

Twyla laughs and tilts her head up, planting a kiss on her lips. Alexis kisses her back and never ever wants to stop. 

She does stop, though, because she's at work and really, really has to get this party going. 

But first, she has just one important thing to say, to put any doubts to bed. "Love that for us."


End file.
